


You've Been The Nicest Place To Me

by myracingthoughts



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Secrets, Timeline What Timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:14:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24379279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myracingthoughts/pseuds/myracingthoughts
Summary: It's the start of a bad joke: Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson and a precinct pick-up walk into the Avengers Compound...Doesn't everyone have an agreement with someone to bail them out of jail if it ever came to it?
Relationships: Sam Wilson (Marvel)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 13





	You've Been The Nicest Place To Me

"Wilson."

Steve Rogers watched Sam Wilson answer the phone from the corner of his eye, trying hard not to take his eyes and focus off the road.

Steve was perceptive enough to know that Sam rarely took phone calls unless he was threatening someone on the other line. Usually, he'd just let it ring out to voicemail, muttering something about hating when people called unannounced. In fact, he was always complaining about the number of telemarketers calling these days.

These small, simple facts were why Steve couldn't help but he notice he picked this call up on the first ring.

"She  _ what _ ?" His voice rang out a little too loudly into his phone, and it took another beat before it reset to its normal range. "Yeah, I'll be right there."

Sam stared at the black screen for a few seconds after hanging up, making Steve furrow his brows in concern. The only thing that he'd ever seen his friend dumbstruck by was work. But, if it  _ had _ been team-related, they probably would have called Steve's phone instead, so was this some kind of personal issue?

"Everything alright over there?"

His eyes snapped back to Steve, giving a half-hearted Wilson smile.

"Yeah, just have to make a pit stop," he sounded a little nervous.

"Yeah, sure. Anything," Steve replied firmly, waiting for directions.

A faint chuckle came from his friend, and Steve suddenly wondered if he should have offered at all.

"Just remember you said  _ anything _ ," Sam said as if he followed his train of thought. "I have to stop by the precinct on West Main."

Steve raised his eyebrow, thinking to himself that he didn't say anything  _ judgement-free _ , but wasn't about to say that out loud.

He just turned off the next exit and kept driving.

Sam was on a mission. He wasn't typically a hot-headed guy; if anything, he liked to think he was one of the more cheerful heroes — at least as far as his team was concerned. But today, Sam was furious.

"I'm here for Alena Koppel," he told the officer at the front desk.

A raised eyebrow and a couple clicks of keys later, Sam was signing her out of holding. Apparently, they let her off with a warning  _ this time _ . He didn't miss the gentleman's emphasis across the counter from him who shortly thereafter radioed in a request to have her released.

An overhead buzz brought Sam's attention to the door on his right side. Standing at the glass in the door was a girl with a sheepish smile, messy dark hair, and likely last night's outfit. Based on the deep-set wrinkles in the strappy number and her lack of jacket, he was betting the odds were in his favour on that one.

She immediately shuffled into an awkward hug, whispering a quick thank you to him as he searched her for any damage.

Confused to find nothing beyond a (maybe) bloodstain near her collar, he had to ask, "Leen, how in the hell did you manage to get in trouble in the middle of suburbia?"

She flashed an overly confident grin, the one she'd projected so many times in the past to get out of not dissimilar situations. It was a thinly-veiled attempt at deflection — that much was evident to Sam.

"What can I say, trouble follows me," she tried to brush off with a smirk.

"Understatement of the century," Wilson murmured, but he wasn't about to let it go. "Seriously, what happened?"

She raised a single finger up to him — not the one he was expecting — and requested, "One second."

Craning herself over the counter, she gave Sam a brief friendly smile before trying to get the attention of the officer behind the desk, currently photocopying something with his back to the girl.

"Hey! Officer," she said in her best impression of a five-year-old. "Can I get my guitar back now? I hope you guys didn't rough it up. That's my livelihood back there."

Sam grimaced at her tone, wondering absentmindedly if they'd toss her back in the cell after all. But, the officer didn't say anything, instead, slipping into a back room to presumably look for her instrument.

Fingers tapping on the desk like a Karen at a Target check-out. Sam was of half a mind to tell her to cut it out, but he knew Leena was trying her best to mask her nerves. Sam could tell. He could always tell with her. The real question was what she was trying to hide with this charade.

It was then he noticed the telltale red and purple watercolour pattern across her fist. A clue as to what had really happened last. Or at least part of the story.

He didn't back down from his questioning look as the officer handed her a familiar beat up and sticker-covered black guitar case. Catching his gaze, she chewed on her bottom lip and seemed to be considering telling him  _ something _ . Whether or not it was the whole truth was left to be seen.

She sighed hands-on her hip in exasperation. He could see how tired she was, the purple under her eyes clearer at this angle.

"Can we talk about this later? I promise I'll tell you, once I figure out what to do next…" His eyebrows raised in confusion. "I uh, just can't go home right now," she added to answer his unsaid question.

_ Can't _ go home or  _ won't _ go home? He wondered to himself.

He analyzed her expression carefully, gauging whether he should push her on the answer or not. Everything in his gut wanted to know the reason she'd pulled her one-time-use help card out now (though Sam never would have actually held her to just one use), but the counsellor inside him knew better than to try to force it.

So, against his personal wants, he totally caved, "Yeah. Yeah, of course. You can stay with me at the compound for the night."

She stopped mid-stride and stared at him with wide hazel eyes, "Uh, are civilians even allowed there? Am I going to get a stern talking-to from a bunch of superheroes?"

"Well, you  _ were _ going to get chewed out from little ol' me, but if you want to make it a group activity, I'll see what I can do," he chuckled.

She didn't miss that he ignored her initial question, but let him walk her into the parking lot anyway.

"That's not your ride, is it?"

"Shit," he breathed, realizing he forgot to tell her. "You're going to have to catch a ride back with Steve and me."

" _ Steve _ Steve? Captain America's going to give a ride to a girl who just got out of a holding cell?"

"Considering how many scraps that guy got into growing up, I don't think he has much room to judge," Sam dismissed with a wave of his hand.

"And how do you know that  _ this _ was over a scrap?" Her tone might have been playful, but her eyes were sharp.

He reached for her right hand, making her wince slightly, "Because I know damn well you wouldn't hit someone for no good reason, Leen."

Her eyes softened a bit at his reply, giving him a grateful nod and taking her hand back. Sam bounded towards the car, leaving Alena to trail a yard away from the blond super soldier's confused stare in the driver's seat.

"Cap, I've got one more favour to ask," Sam said with a bashful expression and in his smoothest tone.

Steve didn't drop the eyebrows, but after his blue eyes darted between the pair for a couple seconds, he tilted his head to the girl, "Come on in."

She slid her guitar case first, hopping into the back seat with a groan and a "Thank you."

"What are we bringing her in for, Sam? Jaywalking? Overpaid parking tickets?" Steve joked.

"I hear treason is more your style these days," she quipped back with a grin, catching even Sam a little off guard. "I'm Leena, by the way."

Steve turned to offer her a hand that she quickly and enthusiastically shook.

"Steve. Nice to meet you. How do you know Sam?"

She looked up at the passenger seat, watching Sam's gap-toothed grin as it faltered slightly. He shot her a somewhat panicked look that she quickly mirrored before wiping the expression off his face.

"We go way back," he cleared his throat unconvincingly. "Leena's a musician."

Steve didn't look totally placated by the lack of details but tilted his head in concession. If Sam didn't want to talk about something, it was probably better they didn't mention it. He was a good judge of character… besides his never-ending spat with Bucky.

"Well, welcome! Wanda will like that. Sam, you might want to text and let her know we have a guest."

They shared a glance making sure they understood the coded request. Wanda had been good for a while and had been a lot more comfortable at the compound in recent months. But they didn't want to take any risks around her, sensing someone unfamiliar on what was supposed to be secure property.

"Sure thing."

As much as he liked to harp on Tony's lack of letting things go, Steve Rogers was just as bad. Sam called it his killer dad instincts, just honing on uncomfortable tidbits and trying to get to the bottom of it. It was Steve's mischievous side, he decided, which only got worse when Bucky was around.

Sam knew some version of the words were coming out of his mouth before he'd even opened it. Steve just had that look. Sam could see it from the corner of his eye as he typed out a touchscreen message. It was that look that said he wasn't going to make it until the end of the night without Cap getting  _ something _ out of him.

"So, do you guys know each other from high school? College? How far back we talking?"

Sam groaned.

"He wishes," Leena snorted from the backseat.

"Don't start with the old man jokes," Sam chided with a pointed finger. "There's a very sensitive senior citizen in the car."

They made it to the compound with less swearing than Sam would have guessed. He assumed Steve was on his best behaviour, not wanting to give away his less than wholesome driving vernacular in front of a guest.

Sam grabbed the guitar out of the back seat before she could argue with him, letting her continue her friendly chat with Steve.

Sam showed Leena to his room so she could take a shower. Bounding through the modern structure, Sam watched her take everything in, peeking into windowed doors and corners in awe and curiosity.

"I've never seen this part of your life," She admitted quietly, noting his stare.

"It's not so bad, right?" He grinned, forcing her to crack one of her own in response.

"Yeah, something like that."

In truth, she found it overwhelming. Knowing that this was where Sam spent time between missions and these people made up the team he spent most of his days with. It was more than just a building. It was like being let into a secret part of him.

Setting her guitar case down in the corner of his room by the door, Sam showed her to the bathroom and set out some towels.

"I'll get you some fresh clothes," he told her as she started to take off her shoes. She shot him a look like she was about to argue when he added, "Wanda offered."

It seemed to placate her, quickly smoothing her face, "Thank you."

"No big," he replied dismissively. "Shower, I'll be back in a few."

Thankful Sam didn't start the interrogation yet, Leena was blissfully under a hot stream of water in minutes, leaving Sam to procure a change of clothes. He'd just closed his door behind him when Steve caught him in the hall.

"We can set up one of the empty suites for Leena if you want?" Steve offered.

Sam shook his head, leaning against the doorframe, "Nah, it's OK. She can stay in my room, don't worry about it." He thought about it for a moment, suddenly considering how awkward of a situation he was putting his teammate in. "Sorry about this whole thing, by the way, we just—"

"Listen, Sam," Steve cut off his explanation. "It's alright, I know you wouldn't do it unless you were really in a bind," Steve assured his friend.

Sam thanked him with a curt nod, grateful he didn't seem to be concerned about the whole thing.

"What time is the team getting back?"

Steve stared at his phone screen, "An hour, I think."

Good. That was just enough time to get her situated and try to get something out of her.

"Is Wanda in her room?"

Steve shrugged, unsure as he headed down the hallway to check. He shot his friend a thumbs up and walked a little further down the hall to his own suite.

"Knock, knock," Sam poked his head into Wanda's room, finding her already waiting for him with a stack of clothes. "You're the best," he sighed.

"Everything OK?" She asked hesitantly, not sure how much she should pry.

Wanda knew enough about her teammate to know her generally didn't make bad decisions, which is why she was so surprised when it was his name that popped up on her cell phone screen with a very vague text. Couple that with Steve's deafening thoughts involving a police station and a pretty girl, and she was already enraptured with the mystery novel unfolding before her.

This was better than any of the trashy paperbacks she'd squirrelled away in her room.

"I think so?" But looking at the curious glance of the telepath in front of him, now Sam wasn't so sure. "Unless… Did you pick something up or—?"

Wanda smiled apologetically, "No, nothing to be concerned with as far as I can tell. I did not pry, I promise. It has just gotten very musical in here," she tapped her temple. "It is nice."

Sam smiled in relief, "Yeah, that's Leena. You should hear her play."

"Maybe she can show me a thing or two," she joked, gesturing to her guitar in the corner. "I hear the mission went well. There may be festivities yet."

Sam's face suddenly went severe at the thought of having a full house of strangers for Leena to wade through. Wanda offered a concerned look that he brushed off with a token grin, "Thanks for the clothes!"

He spun on his heel and scooted into the hallway before she could say anything, leaving her more confused than she began with. But, knowing it wasn't her teammates' favourite tactic, Wanda decided against snooping, resigning herself to trying to find out later that evening.

Sam could still hear the shower running when he reentered his room, closing the door behind him. He made his way to the bathroom door, already open a crack, and called ahead, "I'm going to leave the clothes by the sink for you."

A muffled "Thanks" carried over the falling water and through the steam before her humming continued.

Sam sat on the end of his bed, thinking over how exactly to go about asking about whatever landed her behind bars overnight. How do you even approach that? Sure, they'd known each other for years now, but this kind of situation wasn't covered in the long-term friendship manual.

The trickling stopped abruptly, and it only took a few minutes for Leena to pop her head out of the bathroom, towel tied around her chest.

"Better?" Sam tested, feeling a little lighter when she nodded.

Analyzing what he could see, he couldn't find any other scrapes or bruises on her. Just the marks he'd already known about; some scattered tattoos, a couple long-time scars, the freckles that graced her shoulder blades. She crossed the room to her guitar case, pulling a small bag out from behind her guitar's neck.

"You carry makeup in your guitar case?" he didn't mean for his tone to sound so judgemental.

Clearly not taking it personally, she smirked.

"I'm not that shallow, Sam. It's my show case. I have to look presentable for an audience," she explained. "Stage lights are unforgiving."

"Good thing you didn't get a shiner, then," Sam quipped.

She stopped in her tracks, looking pensive, searching his face for any hint of anger or frustration. She didn't find any. She wasn't really expecting to, but she would have deserved it if there had been.

This wasn't exactly how she thought last night would end.

"No, not this time. I'm sure that wouldn't help the line of questioning around here either," Leena said lightly, but Sam knew it was anything but. "Is this your way of trying to ask?"

She squinted at him, appraising his expression as she crossed the room towards him.

He kept his voice level, "Only if you're ready."

She sat down beside him, still wrapped in her towel. Clutching it to herself with one hand as the other reached out toward him.

"You look tired. They taking care of you here?" She murmured as her hand trailed down the side of his face, distracting him from his original request.

As tired as he might have been, jail didn't do wonders for her either. Though she looked much more relaxed than she did at the precinct, there was still something lingering beneath the surface. But she was still lost in thought, studying him like she was trying to take in every detail.

Flecks of gold and green shimmering in her eyes, darting between his.

He couldn't quite place it, that look, not until the concern crossed her face, and her hand dropped to his knee, that all too familiar expression.

He'd known it in detail since the day they'd met.

"I have help, Leena," Sam assured softly. "Don't worry about me."

She hummed, "I always worry about you."

Leena was too good at changing the subject with him, but not good enough to get a real answer. Neither of them was satisfied with the line of questioning, but her hand found his, and somehow that placated them both.

"Should I be worried about you? Never thought I'd have to."

She knew that wasn't really a question, but decided to answer it anyway, working hard to keep her face as neutral as possible. Lying to Sam wasn't an option for either of them. He wouldn't call her on it if she did, and the guilt wouldn't recede until he knew the truth anyway.

They'd been down that road; it wasn't worth it.

"It was just a scrap. Piece of shit audience member tried to get under my dress," she said with less anger than he expected. "He had a nap, the cops didn't charge me. They only took me because I'd been drinking after the set. It was fine."

"You knocked him out?"

Not the first question Leena expected, but when did Sam ever do the expected?

"It was the least I could do," she said a slight smirk, a reaction to the mix of surprise and pride in his voice.

The words slipped out a little too casual for Sam's liking like she'd had to do it before. More than twice.

He didn't often worry about Leena; it wasn't part of their dynamic. She was the rock, the safe one, the familiar, in so much as a touring musician could be.

Which was probably why he was so shocked she took him up on his one-time offer to post bail should it come to it. He swore he said it in jest, but they both knew he'd meant it.

He'd offered it in jest on a drunken pub night after one of her shows. An incessant heckler had to be hauled off by security, and it opened his eyes to the types of things she had to put up with on the regular.

There too, she had been too calm, too stone-faced as she continued with the set.

And now, here they were.

"Are you OK?" Sam looked worried now.

She let out the exhale she'd been holding onto, the question she'd been anticipating finally out in the open.

"I'm a big girl, Sam. I can handle an asshole or two," she replied, looking him dead in the eye.

There was still a question left unanswered from the impromptu pit stop earlier.

"And your place? Why couldn't you go back?" He asked.

Here, she hesitated, scratching at her hairline. Looking away.

Yep, he'd hit the sore spot.

"That asshole  _ might _ have been my landlord," she grimaced. "I'm sure the eviction notice is already on my door. So I have to find a new place to stay."

"Jesus, Leena."

"I'll figure it out. I'm only in town until I wrap production, anyway," she said as if it helped assuage Sam's concern.

"I'll help if you need it," he offered in earnest.

She knew he'd make good on it, but she'd already used her get out of jail free card today, so she shook her head.

"Enough with the pity party, I'll be fine." Adding a little softer and with the smallest smile, "I'm just glad you picked up. I missed you."

Sam noted the latter was a little closer to her usual tone when she wasn't playing a big game to hide something uncomfortable. Stage presence and all that burned into her. The same show she'd put on in the precinct was the same mask she'd developed to keep everyone else away.

Cleverly constructed front stripped away, this was the woman he knew.

Corners of his lips upturning on their own, he replied, "Yeah, you too. Sorry I haven't called."

It was true. It'd been too long, too many many missed texts.

They'd operated like ships in the night after he left D.C. Communications scattered across months and miles. They both knew it.

But she wasn't about to indulge his misplaced guilt.

"You've been busy, I've been touring. It's all good," she said evenly, malice-free. "Let's just enjoy the time we have."

He looked a little surprised at the ease of it. Wasn't this supposed to be hard? Not seeing each other for months at a time with little to no contact. The fear of losing something important, of missing out.

Not with Leena, though. Not for Sam.

It always felt comfortable with her. They could have been apart for years and still pick up where they left off.

"We good?"

She smiled, "We're good."

_ Would _ they pick up where they left off?

They were close enough to feel each other's breath, still staring each other down as if they expected the other to concede. Thoughts racing through both heads along the same lines. The same needs, the same wants.

Those would have to wait for now.

Steve's voice carried down the hallway, drifting through the crack in Sam's somewhat opened door. Leena managed to scoot into the bathroom to get dressed before Steve passed by the room, not wanting to get caught in a moment that would only fuel speculation.

Not when they weren't even sure what the answer was.

"Nat says they're five minutes out," Steve announced. "They're bringing food back for everyone."

Sam could hear the shuffle in the hallway as Wanda slunk out of her room. The telltale clacking of her heels boots on the cement floor. Sam made it to the hallway to meet the two, while Leena finished getting ready.

"Good, I'm starving," he offered to the pair already there, eliciting smiles.

Steve shot him a questioning look, a silent ask of whether everything was OK. Sam nodded, dismissing his fatherly stare with a half-shrug. He realized he'd forgotten to mention the rest of the team would be there tonight and silently debated whether to slip back into the room to warn Leena.

"Oh, I hope it's real pizza," Wanda said dreamily.

"New York or Chicago?" Leena's voice rang out from just inside the door. Emerging with a smile and a wave of her hand, she offered, "Hi, I'm Leena, by the way."

"Oh, we are not having this fight again," Sam groaned, stepping out of Wanda's view of her.

"Again?" Leena asked with a twinge of interest, head tilted onto the door frame.

"Are you sure they're not related?" Wanda said in a low voice to Steve.

"They almost bicker as much as he does with Buck," Steve mused.

Sam shot the pair an unimpressed look, "I heard that."

"And he  _ wishes _ he was cool enough to be related to me," Leena added.

"I'm Wanda," the wiry brunette giggled at the exchange. "Nice to meet you."

It wasn't long before a flurry of footsteps sounded through the halls. Chatter followed closely behind, excited voices rising up with laughter. Sam looked at Leena almost apologetically, but she shook her head, knowing she was going to have an exciting night as soon as she took up his offer to come to the complex in the first place.

Making their way to the kitchen, Sam handled introductions to the three newcomers, not that Leena didn't already know who they were. She may not have seen this part of Sam's life up close and personal, but that didn't mean she didn't keep tabs on him.

"A musician, huh?" Bucky mused. "What do you play?"

Natasha, Bucky, and Steve were just finishing up laying out the boxes of pizza. New York, of course. Anything else would be blasphemy under the Stark-funded roof, or so it was explained to her. Steve and Wanda watched from the sidelines, Sam just barely holding himself back from cutting in.

It was silly. He knew she was great with people. She'd never (purposely) embarrass him unless it was in good fun. But, knowing she'd had a rough night, he watched to make sure it didn't turn into an interrogation.

"A little bit of everything. Depends on where I'm playing," she admitted. "But my own stuff, I tend to swing a little more folk, country."

"Anything I've heard before?"

"Uh," she was a little more bashful now. "I've made it on the radio some."

Sam could see Steve's smile widen slightly from the corner of his eye. He felt a little proud, remembering the first time her song played on their local country station. He'd called her as soon as he'd heard it, heard the happy tears in her eyes and the excited squeal she'd never pull in person.

"Do you just play guitar or other instruments too?" Wanda asked curiously.

"Nah, I dabble; piano, bass, a little fiddle, but I'm most comfortable with my acoustic. Usually, I'll write everything, but leave performing to the professionals," she said casually like she was talking about what she was going to have for breakfast.

Steve shot Sam a look from across the room, but he couldn't place it. Somewhere between  _ where did you find her _ and  _ why didn't you tell me _ .

"So you compose too?" Steve chimed into the conversation, stepping off the sidelines with that same grin.

"Yeah, I write some for myself and then farm some songs off to a couple labels I work with."

With stacks of plates on either end of the long kitchen counter, framing the sea of pizza boxes, it was open season for dinner. Leena tried not to stare as Steve and Bucky packed their plates high with slices.

It was harder than it sounded, all things considered.

"So, Sam, how are the fine folks at our local precinct doing?" Natasha shot in Sam's direction with a clap on the back, voice low enough to not catch Leena's attention.

It was too late, though. The rest of the team's hearing was much too good, and Sam found their wandering, curious eyes boring holes into his face at Natasha's question.

He sighed in defeat.

"Alright, who snitched?" Sam shot a glance to a very innocent looking Wanda before settling on a much guiltier looking Steve.

Leena stared amongst them all, picking up the conversation with a slight wince. Embarrassment heated her face at being the center of attention on such an awkward topic.

"Rogers couldn't keep a secret if he tried," Natasha said with a smirk. "So fess up, how do you two know each other?"

A sigh of relief passed Leena's lips as the spy settled on the more manageable, less mortifying and awkward to answer question.

"We might have made bets," Bucky added, sending a chuckle through the rest of the room.

Sam and Leena traded looks, figuring it was the least they could explain, all things considered. She raised her eyebrows at him, egging him into the introduction, however he was wanted to word it.

"We were neighbours," Sam admitted.

Sam watched as Bucky not-so covertly slipped a twenty into Natasha's palm, scowl ever-present.

"I lived in the unit under his," Leena added as Sam shot her a glare like she'd said too much. "What? It's an important part of the story."

He sighed, unhappy he'd have to dredge up this particular part of the tale, "Fine."

She raised an eyebrow at him, making sure he was fine with her giving it away, and he reluctant nudged her with his elbow. A silent 'go for it.'

"There was a leak in his unit. Honestly, it must have been unchecked for  _ months _ ," she shot Sam a very real glare at the memory. "Well, one day, it just completely bursts and the whole thing rips right through my ceiling. I was in the middle of practicing for a session I had in the morning."

Sam was halfway through his drink and looking more nervous by the second.

"I was  _ pissed _ . The water wrecked a bunch of my stuff; all my vinyl, a lot of my paper notes, and even one of my guitars — of course, it was the one I was planning on recording with. Anyway, I wanted to go give whoever responsible so much sh— _ hell _ ," Leena shot an apologetic look at Steve as she caught herself.

Bucky snorted, Sam barked a laugh, and Natasha even managed to hide a chuckle behind her glass.

"You know you can swear in front of me," Steve sighed, forehead well and creased.

Leena shrugged in a sorry, not sorry kind of way, pleased that she managed to elicit laughter around the room.

"It just feels  _ wrong _ , like I'm sullying your wholesome all-American values," she explained with a grin. "Anyway, little do I know, after showing up every day in front of his door for a week, that Sam's deployed and had been for a while. Felt like a bit of a jerk after that."

She flashed him an apologetic look.

"You still gave me hell for it later," Sam added, making sure she didn't forget that fact.

"Yeah, I did," she readily admitted, still unconvinced she was wrong on that one. "And you stuck around after, so what does that say about you?"

"Oh, you couldn't tell I'm a sucker for punishment after meeting these two?" he asked, motioning to Steve and Bucky.

With the story out of the way, all that was left to do was eat, drink and chat. Sam's teammates were easy to talk to, tossing her some signature Falcon stories (some Sam wished they didn't share) for future fuel. Leena, in turn, traded a couple of her own.

In true celebratory fashion, the vodka came out after the plates were put in the dishwasher. Natasha set out the bottle and some shot glasses on the counter, the label catching Leena's eye.

"Oh, Elit," Leena mused. "Haven't seen a bottle of that in quite a while."

"Drank with Russians before, have you?" Natasha asked, intrigued.

"The town I grew up in, in Maryland, was mostly Russian. Between school and the neighbours, I was practically raised by them," she admitted with a grin. "Never picked up the language, probably should have."

"A few shots, and it'll come naturally," she said slyly. "Right, Barnes?"

"Sure, Nat."

Leena barked a laugh at his flat reply as he clinked glasses anyway.

Bucky and Natasha devolved into some tangential conversation as Leena felt an arm slink around her waist.

It sent shivers up her spine, the familiar feeling immediately giving it away Sam.

"Oh, she broke out the good stuff tonight," Sam remarked with a look. "She doesn't do this for everyone."

Nat hummed and poured one out for him, "I get the feeling she's got better taste in vodka than you, Wilson. Plus, your girl proved she can beat up assholes all by herself, so I think she's earned it."

Leena nearly choked on her own drink at that 'your girl' comment. By the time Natasha had finished her dress down, she was simultaneously wondering how and not being surprised that the spy knew precisely what she was doing in that precinct earlier.

Notably ignoring the fact that Natasha had known all along, Sam took the shot in stride, quickly shooting his back with only a small wince, "It all burns the same way."

The redhead shot daggers at him, grabbing the bottle, "And that's where I leave you before you really hurt my feelings."

Spy and soldier gone in a flash, Leena and Sam stared as each other for a moment.

"You're getting along alright, I see," he said, pulling her a little closer.

She welcomed it and welcomed Sam's familiarity and comfort that she didn't expect to get tonight. These were his work colleagues, after all. She wasn't sure just how comfortable he was chumming it up with a not-so-super friend in front of people who had already proved to mercilessly tease him.

All in good fun, she supposed.

"Can't punch everyone I meet," she quipped, sending him into a booming laugh. "Wanna get some air?"

He nodded, leading her outside through the side door, well away from the floor to ceiling windows and invisible to those in the kitchen. The breeze felt good out here, cleaner. Taking some breaths in slow and deep, she felt a little less pent up.

"Too many people?" he asked, arm still attached to her waist.

If Sam looked close enough, he could find his Alena. The version that came out away from prying eyes and stage lights. Easy going but more introverted than not. Bashful of her accomplishments, but never one to shy away from a good punchline.

Between bar nights and the occasional show he'd catch, he didn't see this version of her much anymore.

Being  _ former _ neighbours and all.

"It's weird being around that many people and not have a mic in front of me," she chuckled. "Talking's different."

"You talk to me."

Leena stared him dead in the eyes, wondering if he was silently asking what she thought he was.

"You're different," she explained, and he raised his eyebrows in response. "Oh, please, Sam. You know exactly what I mean."

There it was, that palpable tension between them again. Unresolved, lingering. They could cut it with a knife… or Roger's voice if earlier in the day was any indication.

"Maybe I need you to spell it out for me?" he challenged, brown eyes fiery.

She's never been very good at taking what she wanted.

Leena was always second-guessing what she deserved against others. She knew he was the same way. Careful consideration for the last few years told her she'd just be an inconvenience to him, something that would hold him back. She wasn't home all the time, she'd only make him guilty for not being around when she was, and she figured he'd find someone that fit his lifestyle.

Don't super people usually end up together?

For all these reasons and more, she'd locked away the thoughts of being anything more than neighbours, than friends, regardless of how many nights they'd spent talking about things she'd never bring up to anyone else with those titles. They were always more.

She always wanted more.

And sure, perhaps it was greedy of her, using her one-time bail-out offer and asking for more, but who knew when she'd get this kind of chance again. Maybe she was allowed to be greedy just this one time.

And maybe it was the vodka or the clean air and perfect weather. Perhaps it was because it was the first time she'd gotten him alone in months. Maybe it was because she was done with waiting.

Any of these things and more could have individually explained why Alena threw away all doubts in that moment and went for it.

Hands snaking up napes, arms around waists, their pull was magnetic. Just being up against each other was intoxicating. That satisfying friction and electricity of the moment sinking into their bones.

Lips parted, perfectly matched and battling without breath. Neither wanted to let go, hands drifting. Grasping for something beyond this. Beyond words.

Eventually, the holds loosened, the spell broken as they came up for breath. Air tickled their faces as they kept eyes on only each other.

"Who knew all it would take was a night in a cell," she mused.

His eyes twinkled, "So that's how it is, huh?" he breathed, holding the silence for a beat. "You sure you know what you're doing?"

Cocked eyebrows in reply, she pecked him on the mouth in protest.

"Mr. Wilson, I'm not drunk. Not yet," she laughed just inches from his face. "I am well within my limit, and I think I know exactly what I'm doing. Do you? Musicians are notorious assholes, or so I've been told."

Megawatt smile in full force, he pressed his lips to her neck, just below her ear.

"Mm, not sure about that, but I'm willing to try anything at least once," he murmured against her skin.

"Better not be just once, Sam," she teased.

"No," he amended, taking her hands in his as if to steady them both. "You're right. I don't want just once. Not with you."

He pulled her in again, against him, all muscle and musk. She snaked her arms around her neck in response, head leaned against his collarbone and eyes closed.

"And not tonight," he added. "We'll have a real go at it. Dates and all."

Her eyebrows nearly shot into her hairline, "Oh, you're going to woo me?"

"I'll try my hardest."

"Well, that's all a girl can ask for," she settled, squeezing one of his hands in hers.

"Nah, not you, Leena. You could ask for the world."

She wanted to respond with some version of 'you cheeseball,' but looking at him, he was too sincere for her to shoot him down right now. And she was finally getting her shot at him.

So she landed on the truth instead, "All I want right now is you."

"Well, for the record, I think you're settling."

That earned him a joking swat to his shoulder.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this started as a 3k word fic that ballooned and completely changed pairings along the way.  
> This story also marks 100k words I've uploaded to AO3 since I've come back to fanfiction!
> 
> It’s been a journey, friends. Quarantine does weird things to my brain.
> 
> I’m playing with a couple more one-shots behind the scenes, along with my long-form series that’s being updated 1-2x a week.
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Title credit: [Tennessee by Kayleigh Goldsworthy ](https://open.spotify.com/track/1BpmQc2rDlGB2XSjfs8oZH?si=rLbw7BU3RBqEDbP014k7IQ)


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